


Pressure

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Leading [3]
Category: Ookiku Furikabutte | Big Windup!
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Established Relationship, First Time, M/M, Miscommunication, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-09
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1750568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"How is Abe supposed to tell his boyfriend he wants to have sex when asking Mihashi what he wants for lunch can be an hour-long affair?" Abe lacks a plan but it turns out okay in the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pressure

Abe knows what he wants.

That isn’t the problem. Of the two of them, one of them has to be self-assured or they’d never get anywhere, and Abe doesn’t mind affecting more confidence than he in possession of for Mihashi’s sake. That’s been going well, too; Mihashi has shown more and more of his own, either in response or as an echo of Abe’s own behavior, and that’s great, that’s not the problem either. The problem is in letting Mihashi  _know_  what he wants while feeling out the other boy’s own opinion on the matter. And getting an honest answer. Abe knows communication, especially on this subject, is crucial, for all that his experience with relationships is limited to Mihashi himself. But how is he supposed to tell his boyfriend he wants to have sex when asking Mihashi what he wants for lunch can be an hour-long affair?

It’s not like they’ve only kissed. It’s hard to get time alone but they’ve managed an hour on a few separate occasions, and kissing leads pretty naturally to, well,  _more_. The first time was more an accident than anything else, but since then it’s been deliberate, if rushed and flustered, so it’s not like they’re not getting each other off. And that’s  _amazing_ , if more infrequent than Abe wishes it was. It’s just...it’s part out of curiosity, and part out of desire, and mostly just that Abe wants to get Mihashi out of his clothes, to find out what it feels like to have the other boy’s skin pressed up against his, to find out if it feels different to have Mihashi inside him rather than his own fingers.

So when his mother takes his brother out for the evening and the house is his own, Abe texts Mihashi to invite him over before he has a plan worked out. If he waits until he has a plan it’s never going to happen, or at least that’s what he’s afraid of, and in any case at least they can make out even if he  _doesn’t_  say anything.

Mihashi doesn’t respond; Abe would worry more about this if it weren’t very nearly standard, at this point, and when there’s a timid knock at the door he’s in the hallway waiting for it so he doesn’t miss the faint noise.

“You didn’t respond,” he says as he’s opening the door, before he even gets a look at Mihashi’s face. The other boy is hunched forward over his hands, clutching his phone like a talisman, and Abe knows without looking that his message will be open on the screen, that Mihashi has probably been reading and rereading it the whole way over here. There’s a flush of absurd pleasure at that, heat that only strengthens when Mihashi’s chin comes up and his wide gold eyes meet Abe’s.

“I told you to respond to me,” Abe goes on, but he’s lost the fire of his words now, his mild irritation is lost somewhere under prickling nervous excitement at having Mihashi here in his empty house.

“Ah. Y--yes, you did.” Mihashi ducks his head, breaks eye contact, and it takes all Abe’s patience and experience to not snap at him to look back up. “I--I--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Abe says in lieu of waiting for whatever response Mihashi doesn’t have. “Come in.”

The other boy shuffles inside, stopping barely inside the doorway like he’s waiting to be rejected, like he always does. Abe bites his tongue, and shuts the door, and when he turns around he  _doesn’t_  snap at Mihashi to straighten his spine and calm down and relax. Instead he reaches out to rest his fingers against Mihashi’s cheek, doesn’t hiss when Mihashi jumps like he’s been shocked, steps in close enough that he can feel the radiant warmth of the other boy’s skin through his clothes.

“The house is empty,” he says against the other boy’s gold-red hair. His voice is a little higher than it should be but he can’t steady it. “It’s just us.”

He can feel Mihashi’s sigh against his neck, can feel the first edge of tension fade away even before Abe ducks his head so he can press his mouth against Mihashi’s. The other boy sucks in a sharp breath of surprise, like he always does at this first contact, but the worry seeps out of his shoulders, too, his chin comes up and his back straightens without active decision on his part. It’s like he needs to be reminded that Abe wants him, that the other boy hasn’t changed his mind every single time they see each other. By rights this should be frustrating as everything else, the cringing fright that Abe is going to kick him out, but it’s one of the only things that  _doesn’t_  grate on Abe’s nerves, mostly because of the way Mihashi’s face goes warm with shock and delight every single time he kisses him. It’s like it’s perpetually that very first time, like Mihashi is always blown away by the reminder that Abe wants him, and there’s always that flicker of an unthought smile across Mihashi’s face just as Abe pulls away.

Abe would go through anything for that smile.

“Let’s go upstairs to my room,” he manages. His voice is higher than it was but Mihashi doesn’t comment, doesn’t seem to notice, just bobs his head in instant agreement. “We should be on our own but just in case someone comes home.” Mihashi is still nodding, jerky and too-fast, and he’s stepping out of his shoes and almost falling with haste.

“Hey.” Abe catches his shoulder, steadies the smaller boy’s balance. “Don’t hurt yourself, I’m right here.”

“But -- but Abe-kun --” Mihashi manages, still teetering on one foot and gazing up at Abe with eyes so wide and bright it takes all Abe’s self-control not to kiss him again.

“I told you,” he says instead. “You should really call me Takaya, isn’t it weird to call your boyfriend by his last name?”

Mihashi’s eyes go entirely out of focus. It’s only Abe’s expectation of a wobble that tightens his hold on Mihashi’s shoulder, and only that hold that keeps Mihashi upright while he stammers, “B--b--boy--”

Abe starts to laugh, more out of nervous energy than actual entertainment, but he is flushing with self-consciousness in spite of his best attempt at being casual, and he  _really_  wants to kiss the stutter right off Mihashi’s tongue. He keeps his hold on the other boy, keeps him steady, and when he says, “Take your shoes off,” Mihashi rushes to obey and Abe doesn’t pause to determine if it’s from fear of his anger or from equivalent interest. What’s important is that he’s  _doing_ , and his shoes are off, and Abe can pull Mihashi in by his shoulder and kiss him again, harder and a little more desperate this time. The other boy opens his mouth instantly, recent experience leading him better than even Abe can manage, and for his part Abe purrs in satisfaction and curls the fingers of his free hand up against Mihashi’s hair.

It takes a moment for Abe to remember his original plan. It’s too easy to forget where he is when Mihashi is adrenaline-trembling against him, gasping for air like he can’t remember to breathe until Abe’s own inhales start to fall out of rhythm in accidental echo of the other boy. He  _wants_  to back Mihashi up against the wall, hold him in place by the press of his broader shoulders so his hands can push through soft gold hair and maybe tangle up under the edge of Mihashi’s t-shirt to find out if he  _always_  feels so feverishly-hot. He’s actually taken a step forward, which Mihashi obeys immediately by shuffling backwards, before he recalls where they are, and even if they have the house to themselves it’s a better idea to go upstairs. Even then it’s another moment of ruffling his fingers through Mihashi’s hair and kissing hard against the other boy’s lower lip before he can pull back.

“Upstairs,” he says, voice veering into husky depth this time. Mihashi blinks at him, his eyes entirely out of focus and his lips still parted from the force of Abe’s mouth, but he nods wildly enough that Abe, as always, isn’t sure he understands. Still, when he lets Mihashi’s shoulder go in favor of reaching for his fingers Mihashi meets him by an inch, curls his fingers into Abe’s, and even though Abe can feel him shaking the other boy is smiling, too, biting his lip like his expression is indecent somehow. It’s definitely indecent by Abe’s standards, so maybe he’s not that far off. Abe makes a sound of pained want and turns away, quickly, before he can overthink himself into stepping back in. He takes the stairs two at a time before he realizes that might be more than Mihashi can handle, and by the time he does think of it and turn back Mihashi’s hard at his heels so he doesn’t bother slowing.

They take the hallway as fast as the stairs, faster maybe, and for all Abe’s determined that they  _will_  get into his bedroom in actual fact he’s barely inside and Mihashi isn’t at all when he twists back and reaches out, novelty still making him desperate for contact. Mihashi hits him at full speed and doesn’t even try to apologize, just crushes his mouth against Abe’s skin without checking to see if he’s actually aiming at the other boy’s lips. He’s not, as it turns out, but Abe’s not about to complain about Mihashi kissing his cheek, not when the smaller boy is coming at him so fast that he’s actually stumbling backwards into the room before he’s able to catch his balance. He gets his feet under him just as Mihashi draws back to stare up at him. They haven’t turned the light on, and the sun is setting, leaving just fading daylight to illuminate the other boy’s face. His eyes are so wide Abe thinks he might be panicking, and he’s just opening his mouth to soothe the other boy with some meaningless comfort when Mihashi speaks, his usual stutter absent entirely for a moment.

“ _Boyfriend_ ,” he says, low and shocked. “You’re my  _boyfriend_.”

Abe isn’t even amused. There’s no desire to laugh, no trace of entertainment at Mihashi’s expense, just a flood of affection so warm that his eyes start to burn with tears before he can blink them back under control.

“Yeah,” he says. His voice sounds broken, utterly and entirely shattered. “Yeah. I am.”

“Abe --” Mihashi starts, stops, bites his lip so hard Abe knows what’s coming next before the other boy even opens his mouth again. “Takaya?”

“Yeah,” Abe says again, feeling his coherency sliding away under the pressure of Mihashi’s eyes and the sound of his name on Mihashi’s tongue. “Yeah.” He steps backwards, blind but familiar enough with his room that he can draw Mihashi forward, drop back to sit on his bed without needing to look away from the golden light all across the other boy’s face. Looking up Mihashi seems a little bigger, more solid and less like something that needs constant protection, and the light catches him full in the face so his skin and eyes and hair are all shining pale gold.

“Come here,” Abe says, pulling at Mihashi’s fingers still twined into his, and this time Mihashi doesn’t hesitate at all to obey. He comes in like he’s done this before, without any trace of self-conscious awareness, sets one knee alongside Abe’s hip and then swings his weight up until he’s straddling the other boy’s lap, and when he brings his head down Abe turns his face up so their mouths line up properly this time. Abe’s hands land against Mihashi’s back and the other boy arches in against him, pressing up against his chest and Abe wonders momentarily if Mihashi thinks he’s trying to force him in closer. He didn’t intend to do so, at least not actively; it’s just hard to keep his hands off the other boy, and in the end this is what he wants, anyway, Mihashi panting against his mouth and shaking under his touch. Abe’s starting to shake too, waves of adrenaline and panic flooding under his skin until he’s afraid he’s going to hurt the smaller boy on accident, pull him too hard or push back too aggressively and frighten Mihashi past any point of redemption.

He pulls back from Mihashi’s mouth, though he keeps his hands where they are, and Mihashi trails his motion, leans in as Abe pulls back as if they’re tied together. It makes Abe smile, softer and easier than he usually smiles, and he goes back slowly, pulling Mihashi down with him as gently as he can stand until he’s flat on his back across the bed and Mihashi’s leaning down over him, kissing his cheek and mouth and neck, whatever his lips happen to land against with no real concern for what he’s touching.

“Miha--” Abe starts, cuts himself off and flushes dark with self-awareness even before Mihashi draws back and starts to stutter an apology before Abe can regain control of his mouth. Apparently Mihashi’s not the only one who’s tripped up by his habits. “ _Ren_.”

That stops the other boy dead, cuts his words off more effectively than if Abe had clapped a hand over his mouth. His lips are still parted around some word Abe didn’t catch and he’s breathing hard; Abe realizes he is too, panting for air as if all the oxygen in the room has evaporated into the vacuum between their bodies.

“I want --” he starts, hoping desperately that the right words will form themselves in the magical space between his thoughts and his words. But his voice just trails off into an extended pause, so long that Mihashi is the one who pulls himself together first. It is the smaller boy’s voice that echoes Abe’s: “I--I want... _Takaya_ ,” and that isn’t what Abe was going to say, at least not in those exact words, but he has to shut his eyes to the glow of Mihashi’s face and the light in his eyes or he will never remember how to breathe again.

“Yeah,” he says, the word grating in his throat until he doesn’t recognize his own voice. “Yeah, I want you too, Ren.” It’s easier with his eyes shut, especially when he can feel Mihashi’s slight weight pressing down on his hips and has the other boy’s shirt shifting under his steadying hands. “I want --”

He’s supposed to be the coherent one. He  _has_  to be the strong one, the one who takes the lead and draws Mihashi in his wake, and  _god_  he wants this, he’s been thinking of Mihashi’s skin warm against his well before they were anything more than teammates. But he can’t manage it, he can’t make the words go as soft and warm as they feel in his head, they’ll just be the same rough excess that he turns everything into, and Mihashi will cringe away and he will have ruined all of this perfect golden moment.

Abe groans in his throat, frustration demanding expression, and before Mihashi can startle or draw back he’s speaking. “No, it’s not you, I just don’t know what to  _say_ ,” and he’s pushing up Mihashi’s shirt, he meant to ask for permission for that but the smaller boy’s skin lights up his fingertips, and he opens his eyes and looks up.

Mihashi isn’t pulling away. He doesn’t look frightened, or worried, or any of a thousand variants on the theme that is most of his life. His eyes are focused on Abe’s face, slightly out-of-focus with dreamy heat, and his lips are parted around an unvoiced whimper, and he is trembling under Abe’s touch, vibrating like the other boy’s hands are crackling with tingling electricity.

“Oh god,” Abe says without thinking at all. “Ren, I want to sleep with you.”

Abe has thought this moment through several times in the last few days. He is ready for Mihashi’s blank stare of utter shock, or tears of panic, or cringing terror. But he tends to forget that Mihashi has another mode that he sometimes drops into, when the pressure during a game gets so excessive that Abe’s hands go chill and shaky and the catcher can’t think straight. It’s those times that Mihashi’s fingers radiate heat, are warm and steady and so calm that Abe can borrow his heat, take his composure into himself like he’s absorbing heat from the sun.

Mihashi’s face glows, the light setting off his hair and catching in his eyes, and when he smiles Abe’s breath catches even before the other boy says, “Takaya. M-me too.” Even the stutter is less pronounced, just the faintest slur on the word, and when Abe blinks he realizes his eyes are full of tears though he doesn’t remember starting to cry.

“Okay,” he says, and when the word comes out that sounds broken too, cracked apart by that inexplicable force that Mihashi sometimes shows. “Now?”

He doesn’t mean it to sound like a plea. That’s what is comes out as, though, lined in desperation he did not intend. Mihashi flushes up all over his face, his eyes drop out of focus into total panic for a moment -- and then he leans in instead of away, Abe can  _feel_  him moving in the skin still under his hands, and then Mihashi’s mouth is brushing against his jawline.

“O-okay,” he’s saying, so softly Abe can barely hear him. “But -- but I -- I don’t know --”

“That’s okay,” Abe says quickly, partially because he knows what Mihashi is going to say and partially because he’s not sure how long he can go on talking coherently, his throat is closing up with panic and nerves and excitement all together. “That’s okay, I know, I’ll show you.” His hands are sliding up of their own accord, seeking out more heat for his cooling skin, and Mihashi trembles under his touch and makes a tiny sound, more a whimper than a moan, against Abe’s neck, and Abe loses it.

He meant to go slow. He always means to go slow. His worst fear is that he’ll look up someday flushed and delighted and find Mihashi cringing back from him, that he’ll inadvertently overstep some invisible line as he so often does -- did -- in regular conversation. But then Mihashi will do something, kiss him or reach for him or just be  _Mihashi_ , quivering lip and shaking hands and plaintive noises, and it’s all Abe can do to keep from tearing the other boy’s clothes off. He’s not doing a great job of restraint this time, either. His hands are up against Mihashi’s narrow shoulders before he realizes, he’s dipping his head and trying to kiss against the warm skin of the other boy’s stomach, and Mihashi keeps taking little hiccuping inhales and wiggling around on Abe’s lap and it is  _not_  fair. The only advantage is that he’s moving his arms, too, pulling himself free of the shirt Abe is less-than-gracefully shoving up his body, and then the shirt is gone and Abe’s mouth is against golden skin and it is enough for a moment.

He doesn’t realize Mihashi is moving, at first. There’s faint contact against his waist, along the back of his spine, but with the salt taste of Mihashi’s skin under his tongue Abe’s too distracted to piece together the tickle of touch. But he can feel the other boy breathing under his mouth, can feel the deep inhale that means Mihashi’s about to speak, and he’s just pulling away to look up when the smaller boy blurts, “Abe-kun, l--let --” He doesn’t finish his sentence before there’s a pull, Abe’s shirt coming up around his waist, and after a breath Abe realizes and thinks to lift his arms so Mihashi can tug his clothes free. Mihashi’s voice might be shaking but his grip is steady and smooth, Abe’s shirt turns wrongside out and peels up over his head, and then it’s gone and he and Mihashi are staring at each other like they’ve never been shirtless around each other before.

“Oh,” Mihashi says. He hasn’t stopped blushing, and he’s doing that thing he does when he’s truly at a loss for words, where his mouth forms shapes but no sound properly emerges.

Abe growls, as incoherent as the other boy, and reaches for Mihashi’s shoulders to drag them both down to the bed. The smaller boy comes, utterly compliant to Abe’s pull, and for a moment there’s just hands and skin and lips. Mihashi’s hand is splayed against Abe’s chest and the fingers of his other are lingering in the small of the other boy’s back, and Abe can’t get Mihashi close enough but he’s pulling him in as close as he can, pressing all their skin together and kissing whatever he can reach, cheek and forehead and mouth, and Mihashi’s gasping and trembling and turning his face up for the other boy’s lips. Abe doesn’t think through what his hands are doing; they’re dragging up over Mihashi’s spine, and part of him is fretting over the pattern of bones he can feel under his fingers and how fragile the smaller boy feels in his arms, but a bigger part of him is  _wanting_ , pulling and clutching harder than he intends. But Mihashi is arching in against him and doesn’t seem at all afraid, and Mihashi’s fingers are moving, and then there’s pressure against the front of Abe’s jeans and Abe’s groaning, rocking forward without thinking before he even thinks through the actual fact of grinding against Mihashi’s palm.

Abe is half-expecting the smaller boy is pull away or shy back. He always expects it, a little. But Mihashi pushes instead of flinching away, gives Abe the pressure he’s looking for, and Abe gasps and lets go of Mihashi’s shoulders. It’s worth it for the moment it takes to slide his hand in against the smaller boy’s fluttering stomach, past the edge of the Mihashi’s own jeans while Abe’s other hand tries to manage the button with fumbling haste. He can’t reach, not properly, but he’s trying and Mihashi is whining and arching and pushing against him with clumsy enthusiasm, and then Abe gets the jeans open and his fingers come down past the other boy’s clothes and brush just against Mihashi’s length.

Mihashi shudders and gasps, whines “ _Abe-kun_ ” as habit wins out over novel intimacy. He doesn’t resist when Abe pushes at the edge of his jeans, wiggles over the mattress in what is probably intended to help the other boy work his clothes free. Abe is not at all sure that that particular motion is helpful as far as actually getting out of his clothes go, but it is definitely effective in sending all the blood in his body down to settle under Mihashi’s palm. Abe groans and bucks forward again, gets one hand against the back of Mihashi’s leg and pulls the smaller boy in close against him without the barrier of the other boy’s jeans while he fumbles with the button of his own pants around Mihashi’s careful fingers. Their hands tangle together; for a moment Mihashi is trying to help and causing more delay than assistance. Then Abe gets the button free, and Mihashi manages the zipper, and Abe pushes the fabric down his legs so he can kick it free.

He’s coming back in to pull Mihashi towards him as quick as he moves, fast enough that self-consciousness at being actually naked with each other doesn’t have time to kick in. Abe’s touched or seen most of Mihashi at this point, if not always at the same time, but there’s just  _more_  of the other boy in front of him now, he can get his fingers in against the back of Mihashi’s knee and slide his leg in between the other boy’s thighs, and his other hand can still catch at the back of the other’s neck so his fingers catch on the feathery-soft edge of Mihashi’s hair.

Mihashi’s mouth lands against Abe’s cheek, lingers there while Abe blinks slow and tries to remember how to breathe with Mihashi’s skin all under his hands. He can feel the breath the smaller boy takes, the shuddery exhale, and he shuts his eyes. It’s easier that way, easier to pay attention to the shivery tells running through Mihashi’s fingertips at his waist and the lips at his skin and the too-thin knee digging into his leg.

“Takaya,” Mihashi says. Abe can feel the effort the name costs the other boy even as he sighs at the sound, at the feel of his name against his skin. “T-takaya, you -- know, you said -- know, you know.”

The fact that Abe knows immediately what the other boy is trying to say either speaks to his own self-conscious awareness or to the fact that he is spending absolutely too much time around the other. The possibility of there being such a thing as too much time with Mihashi makes him laugh even as he forces himself to pull back, to take a steadying breath before actively collecting his thoughts back from the warm melt of adrenaline.

“Yeah,” he says. He looks at Mihashi’s face and has to jerk his gaze away; he can feel himself flushing with shyness at the conscious awareness of the other boy’s observation, for one thing, and more immediately Mihashi’s mouth is just barely open and Abe can see how hard he’s breathing and he’s not going to be able to pull away again. He takes a breath, shuts his eyes for a moment, and habit takes over in spite of the nervousness chilling his skin. “Just do what I say.”

“Yes!” When Abe opens his eyes Mihashi is sliding away, coming up on his knees until he’s kneeling on the bed, leaning slightly forward and visibly vibrating with enthusiastic obedience. It’s ridiculous, and it’s adorable, and now Abe has an  _audience_  and he was not counting on being this  _nervous_.

“Okay.” He swallows in an attempt to smooth out the roughness from his voice, though he’s certain it’s a futile attempt. “Just give me a minute.” He rolls away to reach for the dresser beside his bed and pull open the bottom drawer. The bottle he’s looking for is in the very bottom of the drawer, carefully hidden behind a variety of distractions just in case someone digs through it looking for something else. But he knows where it is, has in fact practiced on his own so that now he can fall onto his back and get the bottle of lube open even though his hands are going numb with nerves.

Mihashi doesn’t speak, for which Abe is grateful. He knows roughly what to do but he’s starting to shiver with nerves and that’s not helping him keep his hard-on, and he  _wants_  this but just at the moment his heart is pounding unpleasantly fast, and if he caves in they’ll never do this. So he blinks at the ceiling, and tries and fails to steady his hands, and shifts his legs open so he can reach down between them.

It’s incredibly difficult to relax against the pressure with Mihashi watching him. He thought he had this, thought he had  _practiced_  enough for all that the idea is giving him a permanent flush of embarrassment, but his whole body is tight with self-consciousness now, so even when he does get a finger into himself he cringes at the intrusion. He bites his lip, shuts his eyes and tries to force himself to relax, which works exactly as poorly as it usually does. It helps a little to cover his face with his free hand -- the cold in his fingers and the heat in his cheeks counteract each other, a little. But then he can hear Mihashi take a breath, and he’s flinching back as much from the expectation of the other boy’s words as from the still painful movement of his own hand.

There’s warmth against his wrist, a faint shift of callused fingertips on his skin, and then Mihashi’s fingers are closing around his. The other boy’s grip is too tight, painful against the joints of Abe’s fingers, but that’s okay, he doesn’t care, he’s clinging to Mihashi’s hand like it’s the only real thing in the whole world. His fingers flush warm and he can take a breath -- it’s shallow and shaky, but it’s a breath, and then he can stand to open his eyes and risk looking at Mihashi’s face.

The other boy’s mouth is just barely open, his eyes glazed with heat, and whatever awkwardness has cooled Abe’s blood has had  _no_  impact on Mihashi at all. He’s not touching himself deliberately, but he’s got his left arm locked out between his knees and he’s rocking in against his arm, the movement so slight that Abe doesn’t think Mihashi knows he’s doing it. Abe’s breath gusts out in a groan and his erection decides that maybe it’s time to come back after all. He tries moving his hand and it’s better, it hurts less for all that it still feels weird, and Mihashi makes a gasping sound in the back of his throat that turns Abe’s blood so hot he’s barely even embarrassed by the unblinking stare the other boy has turned on him.

“D-does --” Mihashi starts, still without blinking and still squeezing Abe’s hand so hard the other boy’s fingers are going numb. “Does...feel good?”

There’s a word missing there but it’s relatively coherent for Mihashi-speak. Abe flushes as his self-consciousness comes back, but he’s still hard and it is getting better, he really  _is_  relaxing. He swallows and coughs and talks around the heat flooding his face. “It will. It takes a minute.” He sounds gruff with forcing the words past the nerves lingering in his throat, almost angry, but for once Mihashi doesn’t shy back from the roughness in his voice. The redhead is still watching Abe’s hand moving, still rocking in against his hand, and Abe kind of wants to reach out so he can feel Mihashi grinding in against  _him_  instead, but there’s something appealing about watching the unconscious instinct of the other boy’s movements so he doesn’t, not yet.

Mihashi’s the one who reacts when Abe takes a breath and eases another finger into himself. He  _mewls_ , leans so far forward Abe thinks he’s going to fall, and his grip on Abe’s hand goes so tight the larger boy hisses and pulls his hand free before he breaks something. But then his hand is free so he can reach out, quickly before he has time to be self-conscious, and shove his fingers around Mihashi’s arm so he can push against the other boy’s erection. Mihashi’s eyelids flutter, his hand comes out to grab desperately at Abe’s shoulder, and for a minute Abe is worried he’s going to come right now before his work can pay off.

“ _Wait_ ,” he growls, unconsciously speeding the gentle thrusting of his fingers. “Ren,  _wait_  I’m almost ready.” He doesn’t pull his hand away -- he  _can’t_ , not when Mihashi is making the sounds he’s making -- but the other boy blinks and catches a breath and goes still so he’s not actively thrusting in against Abe’s palm anymore. The instant obedience makes Abe choke on his breath even before he angles his hand and decides that he’s had enough.

He slides his fingers free, reaches out for Mihashi’s shoulder to drag the other boy down against him even as his tongue is tripping over “ _Ren_ ,” sounding more agonized than wanting. It doesn’t matter. Mihashi is chirping over some half-formed word or a lost breath of surprise and Abe’s mouth is against his shoulder, Mihashi’s skin is radiant with heat and sunset color and Abe bites without thinking, scrapes his teeth against the other boy before he can pull back the violent need under the motion.

“Fuck,” he blurts as he pulls away, and of course there’s a mark, he can see the blood rising to a bruise under the shape of his teeth against Mihashi’s shoulder. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to leave a mark.”

Mihashi’s eyes are still blurred -- he’s blinking at Abe like he doesn’t understand a word the other is saying. He probably doesn’t, in actual fact. Abe stares at him for a moment, and then barks a laugh and lets the apology go, pulls away and rolls back over to reach for his drawer again.

He’s practiced with the condoms too, just on himself and just so he won’t fumble in exactly this moment. He’s doesn’t fumble, either, or at least not from uncertainty. It’s more that his fingers are slippery, and so is the condom, and he’s shaking though not from nerves, or at least not unpleasant nerves. He’s warm now, the cold panic is gone and replaced with hot edgy adrenaline, and Mihashi is going to pieces and is entirely useless. The other boy’s hands are fluttering against Abe’s hair, fingertips pressing into Abe’s hip, but even if he’s not helping he’s not actively interfering with Abe’s motions, and when the larger boy finally gains traction and slides the latex down Mihashi whimpers and bucks up even against the minimal contact of Abe’s fingertips.

“Here.” Abe strokes what is left of the lube on his fingers over Mihashi’s length, tries very hard to stay focused when the contact makes the other boy shake against him and choke on an inhale. “Here, move over.” He lets Mihashi’s erection go, grips gently at the other boy’s hips to pull him in until he fits between Abe’s legs and down against his chest. Mihashi is pliant if not particularly mobile on his own; Abe can feel the heat of him flushing, he’s not sure if it’s nervousness or excitement or embarrassment or all three, but the other boy isn’t cold, he’s almost feverishly hot, so Abe figures he’s okay.

He turns his head so his mouth is against Mihashi’s cheek, so his lips brush over the other’s skin when he talks while he resettles his hands on Mihashi’s waist to hold him steady. “You’re just going to do what I say, okay?”

Mihashi nods, short and jerky, but he doesn’t lift his head. Abe wants very badly to sigh in exasperation. He doesn’t. Instead he takes a breath, shuts his eyes, and speaks with as much calmness as he can muster. “Ren. You need to sit up, I won’t be able to see what you’re doing so you need to be able to watch.”

Mihashi shivers, but he’s obeying anyway, as willing to be led as he always is. It sends a chill of fright down Abe’s spine -- Mihashi is submissive, he’s  _always_  submissive, what if he…

“Ren.”

Mihashi looks up, eyes wide and startled and already apologetic. Abe must have sounded more harsh than he intended. He makes an active effort to lower his voice, to smooth the roughness out of it before he speaks again. “Do you -- do you want this?”

Mihashi’s eyes go wide, wider than they should be able to, wider than Abe has ever seen them before. But then he nods, keeps nodding, the motion so violent that Abe is a little worried he’s going to hurt himself, and after a moment he even manages to stutter, “Y- _yes_ , I -- I want -- I --  _Takaya_.” He almost whispers Abe’s name, like it’s a secret, like he’s holding it safe on his tongue, and Abe has to cover his face with his hand because there are times he is utterly incapable of actually looking at Mihashi’s face.

“Okay.” He sounds rough again but he really can’t steady his voice, not now. “Good.” He shifts his weight, comes up on his heels for a moment so he can shift his angle. “You need to --” He starts blushing even before he finishes his sentence; only sheer determination keeps him talking through the crimson embarrassment. “Line yourself up. And go slowly, listen to me as you do.”

“Yes!” Mihashi chirps. He doesn’t sound anything like as embarrassed as Abe feels, but he can’t be sure since he’s not looking at the other boy. The mattress shifts -- Abe angles his hips up again, tries to relax instead of flinch in anticipation. There’s brief contact, the weird slick catch of latex on skin before it’s gone, and Abe swallows and drops his hand so he can actually see Mihashi’s face.

The other boy is looking down, biting his lip in concentration. It’s a little bit funny, how intensely he is focused, but he also looks so much like  _Mihashi_ , the look in his eyes the same unblinking attention he has when Abe’s watching him from across the field, that Abe’s breath catches. Aside from everything else, the awkwardness and the embarrassment and the discomfort, this is Mihashi,  _his_  Mihashi, he  _wants_  this and Mihashi wants this, and he sighs and relaxes just as the smaller boy lets his lip go and starts to push forward.

For a minute it’s almost-familiar, the same pressure Abe feels from his fingers, but the angle is a little different, and Mihashi’s a little bit bigger, and the pressure is verging right on pain when Abe chokes, “ _Slower_ ” and Mihashi stops dead. He almost jerks away, Abe can feel the tension thrum through his body, but when Abe snaps “ _Stop_ , don’t  _move_ ” Mihashi freezes, eyes wide and terrified as if Abe’s going to hit him.

It takes a monumental effort for Abe to calm down. His body is protesting and he’s flinching from the expression on Mihashi’s face, he  _hates_  making Mihashi look like that.

“It’s okay,” he says, sounding flat but not angry, at least. “It’s okay, just give me a minute.” Mihashi is still looking utterly horrified; for a minute Abe wants to drag his hands through his hair, growl just to let off his frustration. But that won’t help, so he shuts his eyes, and takes a deep breath, and lets it out slow and careful, and lets Mihashi’s waist go so he can wrap his fingers carefully around his own erection.

That  _does_ help. The sensation is familiar and comforting, he knows how to relax into that, and when he takes another breath it’s easier, his irritation cooling into the first edges of guilt.

“Ren.” He opens his eyes. Mihashi is still staring at him, he doesn’t look like he’s moved or breathed or blinked since Abe snapped at him. “Breathe.” He takes a breath himself. “I’m not angry.” Mihashi does blink, then, takes a breath so carefully Abe can see him thinking through the motion. “I’m sorry.”

He smiles weakly and Mihashi’s mouth twists like he’s thinking about smiling back. For a minute Abe is watching Mihashi’s expression, waiting for everything to either be ruined or okay -- then the smaller boy’s mouth makes up its mind, starts to turn up, and Abe sighs in relief.

“You can move again,” he says, and shifts his weight to punctuate. “Slowly, though. Really slowly.”

“Sorry,” Mihashi says automatically.

“No, just --” Abe sighs again, deliberately slides his fingers in soothing circles against Mihashi’s hip. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” His smile is more than a little self-deprecating. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Me neither,” Mihashi says, as if Abe didn’t know that already, but he takes a breath, and starts moving forward again with truly glacial slowness. It would be frustrating if it weren’t exactly what Abe needs, an increase in pressure with plenty of time for him to breathe into it and refocus his attention on the friction of his fingers against his own length.

He’s relaxing, and breathing deep and slow, and thinking so hard about the movement of his hand over himself that he doesn’t realize Mihashi has stopped until the other boy takes a sharp breath and says, “Takaya?” and Abe realizes that’s it, Mihashi’s actually  _inside_  him and it’s not actually painful.

“Oh god,” he blurts without thinking, and when he blinks his eyes meet Mihashi’s and for a minute they just stare at each other, neither of them blinking and Abe’s pretty sure neither of them breathing, either. Then Abe inhales, though he can’t look away from the shell-shocked look in Mihashi’s gold eyes, and when he says, “Okay, move,” it’s almost a whisper, as softly as he’s ever said anything.

Mihashi doesn’t nod, and he doesn’t blink, but he shifts his hand against the mattress and moves back, very slowly, before he comes back forward. It’s better this time, Abe’s not sure if he’s getting used to the feeling or if it really is feeling better, but either way when he exhales the sound is more satisfaction than pain.

“Tak-” Mihashi starts, but he doesn’t finish the sound. Abe can hear the sound catch in his throat, can see those gold eyes going liquid with almost-tears.

“Don’t cry,” he says, and he lets go of Mihashi’s hip to press his thumb to the other boy’s cheek. “It’s fine. Are you okay?”

Mihashi ducks his head, blinks hard, and takes a breath that speaks as much to his tears as his eyes do. “Y-yes.”

Abe almost huffs, because  _obviously_  he’s not fine, but then he blinks, and damp trickles over his cheek and he realizes he’s as close to tears as Mihashi.

“It’s okay,” he says in that same conspiratorial whisper. “It’s okay, we’re --”

“Having  _sex_ ,” Mihashi says. His voice is loud in the space without Abe’s to drown him out. “ _Takaya_.” He’s saying it over and over, like it’s a talisman, like he’s finally figured out how the syllables fit together and doesn’t want to forget now, and Abe’s low chuckle of delight startles them both.  
“Yeah.” He shifts his angle again, meets Mihashi’s motion halfway, and they both catch their breath in a brief moment of total synchronization. “ _Oh_.” He takes a deep breath, lets his hand slide up over Mihashi’s cheek to catch in his hair; when he sighs out the air shakes in his throat. “Keep going.”

Mihashi doesn’t ask if he’s sure; Mihashi assumes Abe knows, assumes the other boy knows what to do and what he’s asking for. The trust is as charming as it is ridiculous, and Abe starts laughing again, weak and uncontrollable, as Mihashi comes down to rest his forehead against Abe’s shoulder and starts thrusting into him, very slowly and very carefully. Abe’s fingers are tangled into the other boy’s hair, stroking through the strands absently, and he’s not seeing anything anymore, just staring at the ceiling while his brain crackles with the rush of familiar pleasure from the motion of his hand and the less-familiar friction from Mihashi’s movement. Mihashi’s breathing hard against his skin, Abe can feel the other boy trembling even more than is usual, the quivery response to pleasure he is just starting to be able to recognize in the other, and he’s jerking himself off faster in inadvertent response to that panting rhythm in his ear. It’s barely been any time at all, he realizes dimly, but his skin is rippling with heat and he’s not sure if its his own or Mihashi’s reaction that he’s feeling, and he’s turned his head so his mouth is against the other’s ear without realizing it.

“Fuck,” he manages, and Mihashi shudders and whimpers. “Fuck, Ren, I --”

There’s a choke against his skin -- Mihashi’s hand closes on Abe’s other shoulder, grips bruising tight, and Abe’s gasping more in surprise than pain when the other boy shudders under the force of his orgasm. Abe’s seen Mihashi come before, if only a handful of times, but he can  _feel_  it ripple all through the smaller boy’s boy like this, like he’s getting the pleasure secondhand through the contact of their bodies.

“ _Ren_ ,” he gasps, shocked into repetition by incoherent sensation, and Mihashi takes an inhale that sounds like a sob and says “ _Takaya_ ” like it’s a prayer.

“Oh god,” Abe groans, picks up the speed of his hand because he  _cannot_  wait, not even long enough for Mihashi to collect himself. He really can’t -- Mihashi is just starting to move again, only just loosening his crushing hold on Abe’s shoulder when the other boy arches up against the weight over him. Sensation rushes out into him -- he can’t feel his fingers and he can’t breathe and he can’t control the low moan of satisfaction that tears up from his throat as he comes between their bodies, but it doesn’t matter, he’s got Mihashi over him and salty skin under his mouth and pleasure pouring out into his veins and stealing his self-control.

When Abe catches his breath and blinks back into his own mind, he’s left another mark on Mihashi’s shoulder, just under the first one. He doesn’t even care anymore, just drops back to the bed and gasps for air while he lets his hold go and brings his sticky fingers up to rub idly at the rising color under the other boy’s skin.

“I-I bruised you.”

The words are so entirely what Abe is thinking that it takes him a moment to understand why he stuttered and why he’s not speaking in his own voice. Then he puts it together and blinks his focus away from Mihashi’s shoulder and back to his face. The smaller boy is ghosting his fingers over Abe’s shoulder, looking as traumatized as if he’s killed someone.

“It’s okay,” Abe offers. Mihashi blinks rapid-fire at him and he rubs his thumb over the teeth marks. “I bruised you too.”

“I --” Mihashi starts. Abe can see the stutter forming on his tongue, can watch the motion of Mihashi’s throat as he fights it back. It doesn’t irritate him, for once; he just watches the motion drowsily, waits for the words to come, and his patience seems to give Mihashi coherency. “I don’t mind!”

The smile comes easily. Abe is sure he never smiled this much before, is equally sure that Mihashi is smiling more too and that every time he does there’s less cringing fright under it. The other boy’s hair is soft under his fingers, and Mihashi’s breath is warm on his skin, and when Abe leans in to kiss him the other boy’s mouth is damp and sweet, and Mihashi doesn’t flinch at all.


End file.
